A Rogue Kiss
by Daylo
Summary: What else? There's nothing I adore more than an impossible romance, and Gambit finds himself wrapped around the unwilling finger of Rogue, who just wants live her life the best she can without putting people in comas. Romy. A little Wolvoro. Rating might move to M later on.


**Chapter One: Making Impressions**

New people always caused a scene at the mansion, which was to be expected. Everyone got excited to have a new member, show off what he or she could do. Anna Marie loved that people here had a positive reaction to newcomers, to mutant powers, no matter how potentially harmful they could be. After all, they welcomed her with more than open arms. But this new buzz was just getting ridiculous. Anna Marie's foot was tapping the floor with exasperation. Because, really, who gossips in the damn library?

"He's got such weird eyes," one of them commented in a loud whisper.

"You think so? I like them."

"Yeah, but what about that accent?"

They shared a giggle.

_Oh lawd,_ she thought, flipping the next page with more force than necessary. With strength like hers, she nearly ripped the book in half. If she were honest with herself, Rogue wasn't nearly as vexed as much as she was feeling left out. The early morning Danger Room shift was always taken now. And he was also the reason Girl's Night was canceled yesterday. He charmed half the girls and they turned into a puddle of goo or something equally brainless because they completely forgot.

To top it off, no matter where she went, she couldn't escape him! He was everywhere, the little sneak. Rogue had to go through lengths to avoid him this past week—had managed to not even glimpse him—but the newcomer made his presence known regardless. The restroom, the gardens, the flipping roof… Judging by all the talk, his mutant power must have something to do with pheromones. Damn near everyone wanted a piece of that pie, and those that didn't, were almost paranoid. Scott was more than wary of the man, as Rogue had heard him voice his concerns to the professor. Something about his mind being difficult for telepaths to read; meaning that his motives weren't a sure thing. Anna Marie decided not to bring up that she was also impossible for telepaths to read, because of all the psyches swimming in her noggin.

Well at least it was her night to cook. Today's only saving grace. She already had the kale soaking in her secret marinade, the chicken defrosting in the ice box, and her grandmama's bread pudding prepped from the night before, since the canceled plans gave her the time to do so. Rogue checked the time. 12:02. The chicken should be ready to drain and add the seasoning.

She placed the book back on the shelf and headed downstairs to the 'faculty' kitchen—basically the one the X-Men used. And maybe it was her mood, maybe the weather got to her (Ororo prefers to water the garden 'the natural way'), but when Anna Marie saw a set of broad shoulders leaning over her kale, a surge of protectiveness coursed through her. "Honey, you bettah hope Ah don catch you with'a fork in your hand. That dish ain't for samplin'."

"Au contraire," replied a thick accent that sounded both familiar and foreign, "Gambit knows when tu keep his nose outta trouble."

She snapped her head to the man that turned smoothly around, staring straight into his glinting black and red eyes. He held himself with courtesy and confidence and there was a certain turn at the corner of his mouth that drew a lady's attention. Anna Marie smiled to herself, _so this is the stranger._ This changes everything. "Well Ah'll be. You'ah southern boy—sound like ah Cajun. Louisiana?"

He was amused by her statement as it was not a question. "Born an'raised N'Orleans. Da name's Gambit, but you chéri, call me Remy Lebeau."

Gambit. Of course. How totally Cajun. She laughed to herself. Of course all these yanks would be beside themselves when a charming southern rake came to the mansion. It all made sense now. Poor Scott.

"Som'ting funny, chéri? Gambit loves a good laugh."

Anna Marie smirked, "Ah just thinkin' how all this commotion over you makes sense now that Ah met you. You stole mah Gals Night yesterday."

The man's eyes, and she would admit only to herself they were very striking, went comically wide, his hand to his heart, "Oh merde! Dat never should'ave appen—forgive dis man his t'ieving ways, chéri? Remy gon make it up t'you. Promise."

"By eat'n mah greens, you rake? Ah saw you pocket somethin' fork-like."

There it was a twitch of his mouth, the smallest sign of honest surprise, before he covered it up with a wide grin. But she caught it none the less and her smirk grew. "Ma petite, don know wat you talkin about."

"Sure sugah. Get outta mah kitchen before Ah smack you with mah spoon."

Gambit's expression grew downright mischievous, "Dats naughty." And with the last word, he respectfully nodded his head and left quietly. If Anna Marie hadn't been watching him go, she'd never heard him leave. Thieving ways indeed, the man was a downright rogue was what he was. No one walks that quietly by accident. Anna Marie was not worried because those girls had one thing right; Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters just got themselves their first natural born charmer. And though she knew she could never partake in those charms beyond the occasional conversation, it would do the mansion some good to have a southern smooth talker around. Nothing boosts a gal's confidence in herself like a gentleman's attention. The girls needed some light hearted fun. Too much studying and watching the news worrying about political strife was bad for the soul.

The next ten minutes passed quietly as Rogue prepared her chicken for tonight. She was having trouble finding some of her spices—damn it Scott, learn to put the groceries in the right place—when her phone beeped _that_ tune. She cleaned her hands and checked the text. Logan wasn't much of a text-man unless he was stuck someplace that he didn't want to be.

- Give me the good news. What's for dinner? – Logan.

- Like you don't already know. How bored are you honey? – Rogue.

- Been listening to One Eye's talk about Gumbo for the last half hour. I'm either about to fall asleep or turn this table into sawdust, the manual way. – Logan.

Of all the most ridiculous reasons to call a meeting, Rogue felt her aggravation from earlier seep back in. And then a thought came in to her head about her missing spices. – Do you know if Scott went grocery shopping yet? – Rogue.

- Nah. Been down here planning nonsense all day. – Logan.

And then her temper flared up. "Are you kiddin' me with this!?"

- o – O – o -

Remy Lebeau could be described in a lot of ways by a lot of different people. And none of them would be wrong. He was an honest enough man to know he walked a fine line, and never had he strayed too far one way or the other, but strayed he did. Sometimes often. He got on his way by misbehaving; there was no two ways about it. However this time, he chose a path that did more good than questionable. This school, being a part of a faction working towards peace, gave his charred heart a measure of satisfaction. He was ready to give up some of the darker sides of his life and make certain amends to dead brothers. The fact that he was exiled helped, but Remy had been feeling the weight of his conscience before that miserable event.

Over the past week he had been learning the architecture of the mansion, the culture of the student body, and the attitudes of the X-Men. He embraced it all, sometimes literally. And the surprise was more than enough reward for his efforts. People here were so serious. A peck on each cheek and a compliment of a lady's smile, and some people got all huffy. But Remy loved a little trouble with his harmless flirting. When he gave Ororo and Jean his usual greeting, the leader (Scott? Shaun?) had a terrible frown. And Remy knew just what to do about that, "Quel amour de petit garçon!" (**what an adorable little boy!**) and embraced the man with a hearty hug and two kisses. The ladies found it amusing while Sebastian just straightened his spine and marched out like his ass was on fire. It's really amazing what a troublemaker like him could get away with if you flirted with a straight man.

He was a shameless lover of life and curious as hell. Today, he found himself casually hidden near the kitchen door that gorgeous southern belle kicked him out of. God, the sass on that woman. She straight up called him out on his momentary lapse of poker face and had the grace not to let it interrupt their brief flirting. Well, he did the flirting, as he was wont to do, she did the sass. Few things were sexier to the Heir of Thieves than a beautiful woman giving him a challenge, and doing it so naturally. It's like she didn't even realize her own attraction. Which was impossible. But then again, he was the only man on campus that knew how to flirt. This place was a fucking gold mine, really. But that was a thought for a later time.

Remy set a small goal for today to learn this belle's name and maybe see if she was taken. He didn't pick up the air of another man, but then again, with independent ones like her, you always had to check twice. He was just cataloging her habits—right handed, hummed little tunes, liked to wash her hands a lot—when she pulled out her phone. Her grin lit up her green-green eyes that had Remy grinning, too.

Then a 180 hit like lightning and her frown was downright murderous. She yelled and stormed out of the kitchen, her steps sent strong vibrations that gave Remy the idea this lovely belle's mutation made her more of a power house than a house cat.

Of course he followed her.

- o – O – o -

It was official. Anna Marie was in a mood, and even if she wasn't, she loved to make an entrance. One of the few theatrical things about her, really. So when she arrived to the meeting room, instead of waiting for the door to open itself, she kicked it off its hinges. Logan looked more relieved than surprised—that man loved a little action in his coffee.

"Ya'll mind if Ah cut in?" she said as the dust cleared.

"Rogue—what—the door—" Scott took a deep breath. Putting on his leader voice, "Rogue, this meeting is—"

"Ah know what ya'll are meetin' about and Ah gotta tell ya, Ah've had it up t'ah here with this nonsense."

"We would have included you in the discussion, but you haven't met—"

"Ah met the man all right and you'ah right dunce for going t'ah all these lengths for him. You gonna stop your shenanigans and you gonna go shoppin and you gonna mah spices _in their proper place_ or Ah'll knock them glasses permanently into your skull!"

They were stunned. Even Logan's amusement turned into astonishment. Rogue rarely had words with Scott, or any of the X-Men, but especially not Scott. Of all the men in Rogue's life, Scott was the one that respected her mutation the most, and he not once in all his careful strategizing asked her to use her original power in a pinch. He always played Rogue as the muscle; he never played the Suck Their Memories for Information card, even in the most desperate of times. It's why she trusted him to be the leader, but this time, she was going to call him out. Enough was enough.

When she was finally done with her outburst, she took a calming breath and continued, "Ya'll goin' about this the wrong way. It don mattah if Jean can't read'im, sugah. That man is a raised an praised southern gentlemen. If ya'll weren't such yanks, ya'lld know all you have'ta do is ask the man about what troubles you."

Logan coughed, "Stripes, the man's a thief and a professional liar." Though Logan agreed Scott was going overboard about Gambit, he did think that having a man like him around warranted caution. He caught that swamp rat on more than one occasion studying the lay of the land, testing the structure, and mapping routes.

Rogue rolled her eyes, "Ah know that. We all know that. But it don mattah what his profession was, you just gotta ask him nicely."

"_Ask him nicely_?" Logan repeated incredulously, but his tone sounded like he said 'drink a cup of cyanide'.

"Well, honey, not you. Ororo would be bettah suited t'ah ask him."

Ororo and Jean, who were playing Switzerland during the whole scene, shared looks. The weather goddess cleared her throat, "Me?"

Anna Marie smiled, "It's ah sure thang, sugah. Here, Ah'll show you." She walked a few steps back just outside the doorway and raised her voice an octave, "Now where can a lady find a man kind enough t'ah help her in ah time of need?"

Three seconds later, Gambit walked into view with a smile and a gentleman's bow, "You callin' me chéri?"

"Ah sure am," she beamed at him. She took his offered elbow with great care because human contact always made her beyond nervous, but she was safely covered from head to toe. She'd be damned if she let her fears ruin this moment. They walked into the room like fucking royalty with heads held high and insufferable smirks. "Now we're goin' t'ah have us a proper sit down."

Gambit pulled her chair out first, and then sat next to her. As everyone settled in, Anna Marie did something she'd never done in her life—she ran the room. Things progressed fairly smoothly, all things considered. There was a moment that Gambit followed a conversational sidetrack Jean inadvertently opened ("I'm sorry, I don't have any knowledge of French"), a sexual innuendo set-up even Rogue could see by the way the rake grinned, but she put a stop to it with a light smack on the man's shoulder, "Not at the table," she chastised.

Remy Lebeau cleared his throat and spared her polite smile, but his eyes were dancing. "Bien entendu, chéri."

After an hour of answering questions as honestly as he could, without giving up any secrets of the Thieves Guild, the tension was all but gone. He was still on temporary membership as an X-Man until they could see him in action, but the air was clear, and Remy felt an overwhelming affection for the woman everyone called Rogue. Hell, she changed everything. She was like the perfect compliment to his personality. She was sweet but not weak, sassy, down to earth direct, playful but not a tease, and the sharpest dame he'd ever met. Remy was positive telepaths couldn't read his thoughts, but this woman treated him like an open book and none of his faults caused her to bat an eye. She was everything he wanted in a woman and more. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he was in love.

He needed to know this woman's name. And if he played his cards right, he would have her screaming his. Maybe not tonight, or even in a month, but he'd hear her call his name in every sexual position that came to mind.

So as everyone went about their tasks, Scott and Jean went to get groceries, Rogue left to check on her chicken afraid it had dried out, Ororo gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead that had him grinning like a schoolboy, it was Logan that pulled Gambit aside for a private chat. "You and me, bub, need to have words."

"Dat sound ominous, mon ami."

"Good." Logan pulled them into a private corner of the mansion that was almost intimate, if it weren't for the situation. The Canadian backed him into a wall, and Remy took note of his tactical options before resting his weight against the wall. The Cajun picked up on Logan's body language and straightened his spine. This was not a talk he was likely to enjoy. "I see you're going to take this seriously. I like that."

"Say wat you gotta say, Gambit a good listener."

"The professor may be too nice to see it, Scott may never see it, and Rogue sure as hell won't realize it, but I can smell it on you. You like her."

Remy thought about deflecting that, but what was the point? "Oui."

"Let me rephrase: you can't like her."

"Je ne suis pas de votre avis," (**I beg to differ**) he didn't mean to respond in French, but Remy had a habit of falling back on his mother tongue in times of surprise. And he was surprised. He picked up that Logan had a thing for Ororo so this 'back off' vibe from Logan was a little left field.

"If that wasn't you agreeing with me, then let me follow up by asking you this: do you know what her mutant power is?"

Remy had a few guesses, but by the tone of the conversation, he knew he wouldn't like the answer. "Non."

"She absorbs people's memories, powers, and life through skin contact. The first boy she ever kissed is still in a coma. I care for the pint, she's the best damn family anyone can ask for, but she ain't for your romance, bub. I say this more for your sake than for hers, because she won't love you. She'll never love anyone—those aren't my words, but I intend act on them if it comes to that, do you understand me?"

As if Logan wanted to make sure Remy did understand, an adamantium claw cut into the wood on each side of his neck. Remy's brow shot up. Impression made. _But he ain't ta only homme can make an impression._

Logan was thinking about that middle claw when his shirt started glowing red. His skin felt electric against it, itchy, and the hairs all over his body stood on end. Logan spared a glance down to see the thief's hand casually touching just the shirt, so light and so quick he didn't notice it was there until the glow. He gave the swamp rat a notch of respect for it. "I like this shirt," he huffed.

"Gambit likes his neck."

"Fair enough," Logan replied and backed off first. The glow disappeared. Interesting. Logan filed that knowledge away as he walked out of the private corner. "I consider you warned, Gumbo, and I only warn people once."

"Dats fine by me, homme. Mebbe just put all my attention on Madame Ororo, she sweet on dis Cajun."

That's when Logan turned into Wolverine and made a swipe where the thief's head used to be with a roar. He didn't put all his fight into it, telegraphed his movements, to give the swamp rat a chance to dodge it, but Gambit was already walking down the hall. _Fast fucker_, Logan thought, as he retracted his claws, walking the other direction to get some distance from his anger. Had to have the last word and everything—he could already tell that was going to prove irritating. But something felt off. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a jack of spades. And scribbled on the white were the words: 'She likes orchids – RL'.

"Son of a bitch smartass woman chaser."

That didn't stop Logan from borrowing Scott's car, drive for 40 minutes to the florist and ask the clerk, "What the hell are orchids and do you have any?"


End file.
